


always you (falling for me)

by aceofjapan



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxious Katsuki Yuuri, Communication, Established Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov, Lack of Communication, Light Angst, M/M, Post-Canon, Sad with a Happy Ending, They are learning okay?, no beta - we die like men, yes both
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:14:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aceofjapan/pseuds/aceofjapan
Summary: It had never been like this before. They had fought, sure, heady outbursts when their emotions were running high, in China and in Barcelona and a couple of times in training, but it had always been resolved quickly, they had always found their way back into the other’s arms again.This, both of them stewing in a wounded silence, both too stubborn to reach out, or maybe too afraid—this was new.
Relationships: Katsuki Yuuri/Victor Nikiforov
Comments: 17
Kudos: 147





	always you (falling for me)

**Author's Note:**

> This story is written for a prompt on twitter for [Derry](http://twitter.com/derry_day)! Thanks for your request and, uh, enjoy the unwanted angst! It kind of got away from me. So, business as usual.
> 
>  **100 Ways to say "I Love You", no. 36:** _"We'll figure it out"_
> 
> This is not betaed, enjoy!

He wasn’t quite sure how they hard started sniping at each other like this, each pointed remark and heavy silence leading to another and another until they were both chafed raw, sore and exhausted, too many barbs between them to reach out to each other. 

It had never been like this before. They had fought, sure, heady outbursts when their emotions were running high, in China and in Barcelona and a couple of times in training, but it had always been resolved quickly, they had always found their way back into the other’s arms again.

This, both of them stewing in a wounded silence, both too stubborn to reach out, or maybe too afraid—this was new. 

It scared Victor. 

It scared him to see Yuuri retreated to a corner of the living room, curled up in a single soft chair that didn’t have any room for Victor, staring out of the window into the night.

It scared him to see how Yuuri was fidgeting, how his fingernails pressed into his forearms whenever he thought Victor wasn’t looking, the angry red crescents he left behind on the skin.

It scared him how the heavy, burning silence was so dense between them that he could not wade through it to gently uncurl Yuuri’s fingers with a kiss to his knuckles, the way he usually would. 

It scared him how underneath all the fear and worry and concern for Yuuri, there was still so much irritation at how he’d withdrawn from Victor that he didn’t trust himself to say anything, lest it turn out to be another thorn, another dagger, another hurt on top of it all rather than a soothing balm.

There had been a rising tension between them ever since Yuuri came to St. Petersburg. Not immediately—no, at first they had relished in their newfound closeness, their freedom, the domesticity of sharing a place that was just their own for the first time. 

But too soon Europeans had been looming, and now 4CC and Worlds were rapidly coming up and the increasing pressure of Victor’s return to the ice in addition to his coaching was starting to show.

Things were tense at the rink and things were tense at the studio and things were tense at home and Victor wasn’t sure he knew what it meant to relax anymore. 

He spent the rest of the evening sitting at the breakfast bar, going over paperwork for the upcoming events, Makkachin’s head pillowed on his thighs. He was aware of Yuuri in his periphery, but he wasn’t moving much, occasionally shifting in his seat, head tucked low between his shoulders.

The prolonged silence was itching on Victor’s skin, but he kept working. 

By the time he finally got up, neck and back aching from being hunched over his laptop for so long, Makkachin had curled up by his feet, but she perked up when he shifted, looking up at him, tail wagging.

He gave her a tried grin, running his fingers through her curls. “Come on then”, he murmured to her in Russian, before turning toward Yuuri, raising his voice to be heard across the room.

“I’m taking Makka out for a quick walk before bed.”

It felt strange breaking the silence after so long, even stranger because he knew it wasn’t really broken: he’d only made a shallow cut in it that would mend itself back together in no time, blanketing them in silence like it had never been any other way. 

Unless Yuuri chose to break it with him.

But Yuuri only nodded quietly, barely even turning his head toward Victor. 

Victor gathered his coat, his gloves, his keys, Makkachin’s leash. He left.

_After the door had clicked shut gently behind Victor and Makkachin, Yuuri tightened his grip where it was wrapped around himself, but didn’t otherwise move. His eyes still glued to the darkness outside the window, he pulled the skin off his lips with his teeth. The silence around him was different from the silence just a few minutes earlier, the silence of a man alone different from the silence of two people not talking to each other, and yet he could not move, could only stay curled up on his seat waiting and at once dreading the moment the key turned in the lock—_

No, Victor thought as he watched Makkachin sniff around a bush, that doesn’t seem right. Victor could feel the oppressive heaviness of that silence slowly drain away the moment he set foot outside the apartment, surely Yuuri would, too. Surely Yuuri would make use of his absence by resuming his life, at least for a while, overcoming the fear or stubbornness or inertia or whatever it was that had kept him confined to his chair for the last couple of hours. Maybe—

_After the door had clicked shut gently behind Victor and Makkachin, Yuuri heaved a deep sigh of relief. He uncurled himself from his cramped position on the chair, lowering his stiff legs slowly to the floor. When the numb, tingly feeling had dissipated, he stood, stretching languidly, before wandering into the kitchen. He opened the fridge and glanced at its contents before closing it again with a regretful shake of his head and grabbing a banana from a bowl on the kitchen counter. He always liked a little something sweet after dinner, and tonight in particular he had barely picked at his food, so now he was feeling—_

Victor shook his head. No, Yuuri would not be eating. Since Victor had become his coach, and even more so since they’d moved to St. Petersburg and were no longer able to rely on the Katsukis for their meals, he’d started to learn more about Yuuri’s sometimes precarious relationship with food. Yuuri ate too much when he was stressed and when he was sad. He ate too little when he was tense and when he was frustrated. It was still difficult, sometimes, to tell them apart, but Victor had no doubts now: the tension had been rolling of Yuuri in waves. So then—

_After the door had clicked shut gently behind Victor and Makkachin, Yuuri finally turned his head and stared at the closed door for a long time, listening to the receding footsteps, human and animal both. Faintly, he could hear the ding and hum of the elevator, and then silence settled._

_It was a different silence than the one that had been reigning over the apartment for the last hours, less tense, but deeper. There were no other living souls with him in the flat now, no distant huff of breaths, no rustling of clothes, no snuffling of an enquiring dog nose._

_Yuuri swallowed and let the tears finally crash down his face. He cried for a few minutes, his face buried against his knees, his shoulders shaking with sobs. He cried until he felt like the lump in his throat and much of the tension in his frame had melted away, leaving a kind of calm in its wake._

_He took a few deep breaths, wiped away his tears and uncurled himself from the chair, standing up on shaky feet, legs tingling with numbness. His first trip was to the bathroom, then he went into the kitchen. He stood uncertainly between the kitchen island and the counter, eyes catching at the dishes still piled up in the sink._

_They had sniped at each other while cooking, Victor making dinner and Yuuri preparing their lunches for the next day. They had eaten in sullen silence, avoiding each others gazes. Yuuri had barely managed to get a bite down. Then more pointed comments while they were cleaning up—it was exhausting, and neither of them had had the energy to do the dishes right then._

_Yuuri’s gaze ran over the scraps drying on the plate, and with a sigh he turned on the tap, letting water run over them to soak them at least._

_He lingered by the sink after he turned it off, staring into the murky water gathered in the plates, listening to the_ plink-plink _of drops leaking from the tap._

_He drank a glass of water and turned on the electric kettle._

When Victor unlocked the door, his gaze was immediately drawn to the chair by the window, whether he wanted it to or not. It was empty.

He stopped in the doorway to let Makkachin off her leash and take off his shoes, calling an automatic _tadaima_ into the flat, low enough to not wake Yuuri should he have gone to bed already.

He didn’t really expect the equally subdued _okaeri_ that sounded back, but he followed it into the kitchen, after he’d taken off his coat and gloves. 

Yuuri was standing at the kitchen island, hands resting on the countertop, shoulders still pulled high as if to hide himself. Before him were two steaming mugs.

“I made tea”, he said, not looking up, his voice barely more than a whisper, “do you want some?”

Victor nodded and approached him, Makkachin bounding ahead, pushing her nose against Yuuri’s hip until he lifted a hand to scratch behind her ears. There was a soft smile on his lips as he looked down at her, but Victor could see the red puffiness straining around his eyes.

“What kind?”, he asked, leaning against the counter himself now. 

“Peppermint for you.” Yuuri pushed one of the mugs towards him with his other hand without looking up.

Victor nodded again and accepted the tea, curling his cold fingers around the hot ceramic, the contrast almost stark enough to be painful. “And you?”

Now Yuuri did look up, meeting his eyes for a second, searching, like he was surprised that Victor had asked.

“Sencha”, he finally said, looking away again. 

Victor had stopped wondering about Yuuri’s ability to drink black and green tea at all hours of the day and night months ago. 

For a few minutes there was silence as Victor warmed his numb, reddened hands and Yuuri scratched Makkachin until she was satisfied and slunk off toward her bed. Yuuri’s occasional small sips of the steaming tea were the only sounds, then, but it wasn’t the same as before. Nor was it relaxed; it was something in between, something anticipatory, something humming. 

“Maybe it would be better if you didn’t come with me during Four Continents.”

Victor waited for the familiar stab of anger and hurt that always flared up when Yuuri said something like this to fade. It didn’t seem quite as sharp today.

He tightened his fingers around his mug. The peppermint scented steam, cool and hot at once, tickled his nose. _Talk_ , he reminded himself.

“Why do you think that?”

Yuuri chewed on his lips, pulled the skin off with his teeth.

“You could stay here, work with Yakov some more...”

“Yuuri, I’m your coach. I should to be there with you. I _want_ to be there with you.”

He tried to keep his voice calm, but it just sounded strained.

“But that’s a whole week more of training that you’ll miss”, Yuuri said, his knuckles white around his mug, “and Worlds is coming up and...”

“There’s plenty of time until Worlds.” Victor suppressed a sigh. “We can worry about Worlds when Four Continents is over. For now let’s just focus on that.”

“But—Victor, you need… you could make better use of your time if you stayed here, kept training...”

“Oh, yeah?” Victor could feel the sharpness creeping back into his voice, his smile, as much as he tried to keep it out. “Why is it that I need that training time so desperately, _coach_?”

Yuuri flinched, and Victor wished he could feel a little bad about it. 

“Victor—I just mean… at Europeans—...”

“I took gold at Euros, did I not?”, Victor interrupted him.

“I—Yes, but...”, Yuuri swallowed, turning the mug nervously in his hands, the ceramic humming lightly against the marble. “That fall… you weren’t ready. You could have gotten seriously hurt. And it’s my fault.”

“How is it your fault that I fell?”

Yuuri stared down at the countertop, his face cinched into a grimace of worry.

“I keep taking up too much of your time on the ice. Time that you should spend focusing on your own training. I never—I never want to be the reason you get hurt. I don’t want to be a detriment to your career. You should spend more time on your own training. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Yuuri.” Now Victor did sigh. He took a step closer, reaching out just enough to lightly touch Yuuri’s arm. Yuuri did not draw back, and his warmth heated Victor’s fingers more thoroughly than any tea could have. “My fall at Euros was not your fault. You’re right, I wasn’t ready for the Lutz. But I didn’t need to be. A clean skate without the Lutz would have gotten me gold much more easily. I knew that. It was my own pride that made me try for it anyway. I just wanted to prove I could, and that had nothing whatsoever to do with my training time.”

Yuuri still looked doubtful, his brow still furrowed in worry. Victor let his hand slide down Yuuri’s arm, past where faint red marks were still printed into his skin, to his wrist, and Yuuri released his hold on the tea easily to let Victor take his hand. 

“ _Solnishko_ … I am your coach, and that is a commitment I plan to follow through on. When you have a competition, your career will always come first to me. I can worry about my own after.”

Yuuri looked like he was about to protest, but Victor squeezed his hand, interrupting him.

“Look at me.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Yuuri lifted his head and met Victor’s eyes, apprehension in his gaze.

“Be honest. Do you really not want me there with you at Four Continents?”

Yuuri pressed his lips together and gave a short, sharp shake of his head. 

“I always want you there. But, Victor—”

“Then I will be there.”

“Victor...”, Yuuri hesitated, straightened his shoulders and squeezed Victor’s hand in return, “You be honest, too. Do you really feel you have enough time to focus on your own training? Do you have the energy to do justice to both my career and your own? Are you sure you’re not stretching yourself too thin?”

It’s rather perplexing, to have his own nagging, niggling worries repeated to him like this from an outside perspective. 

Victor’s spent the last weeks doing his best to hide every hint of them, like a child hiding something he’s not supposed to be doing from his parents. Feeling guilty and terrified of being found out, like he was going to get scolded when he was. 

Only now, when Yuuri repeats these inner thoughts of his out loud, it feels like a relief. Like a burden taken off. It reminds him that Yuuri is not, in fact, his parent. He is not just a man he shares a flat with. They are more than coach and student, more than fiancés, even. 

They’re a team. They’re supposed to be working together, not against each other.

Victor wonders how many more times they will forget, before they finally get it right.

“No”, he says, a pindrop in the quiet of the kitchen. “I’m… I’m not sure.”

Yuuri nods, face contemplative, and loosens his grip on Victor’s hand, only to lace their fingers together. Victor can feel Yuuri’s ring, smooth and warm, against his skin. He takes another step forward and leans into him, and Yuuri lets him.

“Then, what are we going to do?”, Yuuri whispers into his hair.

“I don’t know”, Victor whispers back, and the words don’t feel as cold on his tongue as he thought they would. “I don’t know, but we’ll figure it out.”

**Author's Note:**

> Work title from Always by Panic! at the Disco.
> 
> Thank you so much for reading! 💜💜💜  
> Leave me a comment if you'd like, I rather enjoy them! 
> 
> You can also find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/nihidea_art/) and [tumblr](http://theliteraryluggage.tumblr.com).


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